rush rush run
howl the wind
the moon the mooon
howl the wolves
the wolf the wooolf
howl the moon
but you dont hear
her casting song
what with your deceiving ears
casting her hook
at twinkling eyes
fishing for the sun
for her the stars put on a guise.
I am the sun I am the sun!
Foolish moon
moon mooon!
Rush rush run
the sun he runs too soon
he twirls his curls down to the
wolves and warms the wind
and the stars all wallow
in their shame
so do the wolves and wind
and other things,
the moon and sun are of the same.

Hana Kurahara Sisk
Sept. 2012

Hana is my young daughter, though her age belies the truth about her old soul.  We both enjoy writing and often send extemporaneous poetry to each other via text messaging.  For both of us it’s a way of avoiding the mundane: homework, chores, paying bills.
There is a notable difference between her poetry and mine.  I put a great deal of effort into my poetry; for the same results, she writes with ease.  Though she reads my poetry and feels free to comment and ask questions, I never worry about her emulating me.  She already has a voice that goes with that old soul.

Sept. 23, 2012